


The Moon and the Sun

by bearlytolerable



Series: Vhenan'ara verse [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Language, Post Tresspasser, Slow love making, Smut, pre vhenan'ara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 15:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17810900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearlytolerable/pseuds/bearlytolerable
Summary: Once. She sighs. Twice and she shutters. Three times and his tongue marks adagio.





	The Moon and the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the song I wrote this to for your listening pleasure:  
> [Mr. Sandman (instrumental)-SYML](https://open.spotify.com/track/4dUN1lZSnUYC5lwyYC1Ypn?si=x3HLzXxSQk6H-gRBSgp91g)
> 
> This was also inspired by a prompt fill on tumblr: honey, sunset and satin

“Why are we here again?” Solas drops his satchel into the sand and it hisses at him.

He does a double take, wondering if somehow the sand came alive but it’s just a grumpy lizard, squirming its way out from under the weight.

“Look you made it mad,” Sarya says gesturing after its retreating figure. “We’re here to enjoy each other’s company.

She turns back to their tiny encampment, placing throw pillows all around their makeshift bed. No matter how she arranges them, it does not transform this wasteland into a romantic getaway. He watches the wind sweep along the dunes, swirling like a chiffon skirt. It’s pretty, he admits but he wishes for greenery, even if only a little.

“We couldn’t do that at home?” He asks.

“Well yeah, I guess so.” She fluffs one last pillow and joins him near the tent flap, leaning into him. “But you let me pick and I love this place.”

He can’t help but chuckle as he throws his arm around her, gathering her into himself.

“Why is it that all the hostile deserts are your favorite places?”

“To be fair, I like anywhere with sand.”

“Then why didn’t you pick a beach?”

“I did! But that’s for another day.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if the beach you chose is on the Storm Coast.”

“Oh hush! Don’t be ridiculous. You know I’d only pick the Storm Coast in the fall.”

“When you’re most likely to get swept in by the tide.” He shakes his head. “I worry about your attraction to danger.”

She quirks a brow at him, brushes her finger on the tip of his nose. “You do realize I am married to danger, right?”

“Hmm, yes and I still fail to see the appeal.” He kisses her temple then.

“Maybe we’ll have to change that then,” she says. “The bed is finished, I think, so we can cuddle, watch the sunset and stuff our faces with the copious amounts of pastries and chocolates that Josie sent as a gift. Oh, and she sent her favorite bottle of Antivan wine.”

“Are you trying to get me drunk so I can pretend that we’re not in the middle of a desert?”

Sarya laughs and takes his hand in hers, tugging him toward the bed. “Maybe? If you’re lucky, I’ll even sneak a lizard into your bedroll.”

“I...no. I prefer a lizard less bedroll, thank you.”

She snickers. “Can I offer you this larger than your face jelly roll then?”

He grimaces. “That’s the best you have to offer?”

She rolls her eyes and hands him the basket filled with eclairs, scones, tarts, pies and truffles. “Take your pick.”

He does and shares a few bites with her. She licks the icing off his forefinger, humming slightly while holding his gaze. His stomach flips and his pants feel too tight.  
They talk and share memories. Eat too many treats, lay next to each other, fingers tracing lightning into each other’s skin until the heat prickles enough to make them strip. Longtime lovers caught in the net of familiarity.

She wraps her hand around his neck, kisses him.  
Her lips are like chocolate on the tongue, firm then melting. He tastes, taking her in fully, letting her linger. Sampling. Savoring. _Devouring_.

There’s a gentle kind of moan that escapes him, one that’s lost in recycled air. He quickens his kiss, alights on her breath. She pulls away and he can’t breathe or maybe he can because he couldn’t before. He doesn’t know. He only knows that he’s swimming, and this sand is endless.

“Come back to me,” he whispers. His hand is in her hair, twisted around his fingers. Tugging gently, he reiterates his desires.

“And how do you ask, my moon?” That smirk that tugs at the corner of her mouth catches him off guard every time.

“ _Please_ ,” he begs, his voice unfurling like a broken string.

Her gaze is intense on him, more mesmerizing than the sun sinking low on the horizon.

“As you wish,” she says.

She paints him orange inside then red on his lips. Her fingers rub the tip of his ear. Another moan escapes him. This time it rivals the rustling of the wind.

His hand travels down her cheek, caressing then brushing his thumb in ovals. It keeps wandering, feather touches on her neck, the top of her shoulder. It hovers just above her chest and he presses firmly. She gives way to him, falling on her back. She arches against the ground, a lyre to be strummed. And his kisses, his tongue, play chords across her body. He presses his hands against her inner thighs, spreading her wide, kissing each side before drinking her in. He parts her folds, soft and ready for him, and he licks. Once. She sighs. Twice and she shutters. Three times and his tongue marks adagio.

 

“Fuck! This pace will be the death of me Solas.”

He smirks. “You will live through this night and you will thank me when it’s over.”

“Always so confident. You are less charming than you realize.”

He notices she does not close off to him.

“Oh?”

She speaks heresy but he’s yearning for her praise. He presses his lips to her clit, sucks just enough to know the pressure is building. Tonight, she tastes like a glass of honeyed spirits with salt on the rim, and he will be drunk. He licks her until she is uttering blasphemy against him, against the creators. Then he pulls away to study her. Chest heaving, breaths shallow, and waiting. He watches the way her throat moves as she swallows. He catches her eye and her brow flicks up in question. She is impatient, wiggling herself nearer to his mouth. Hips lifting with wordless demanding. He wants to give in, but the release will be sweeter with time. And so, he _drags_ it out. Languid licks, kisses of leisure, and touches that guide her to the precipice.

His eyes trail up her body while he continues to undulate her with his tongue. She is beautiful like this, unwound and open. She is free and it strikes him like a match in his core; he is the cause of her unfiltered delight. He is the one to elicit her praise. It’s still a mystery why she accepts him as he is, knowing full well all that he has done, all he can do. Yet here she is, vulnerable and naked and willing. He hopes he can do right by her.

It takes every ounce of his last remaining willpower to not give into his basest desire, the one that is instinctual. But here is the place where his heart lies, and he will do everything- _everything_ in his power to keep her pulsating. He dips his head again, nose pressed against her clit, senses filled with the scent of _her_. All encompassing. All _consuming_. She gasps, groans, and quivers under his touch and he lets her down easy with gentle, legato licks until she is still once again.

He looks up and catches her gaze, chest heaving and he wipes his mouth. They exchange sensual glances and she gestures for him with a finger. He obeys, crashing against her lips, chest pressing into hers, his hands flowing over the curves of her body like a current. He’s already so hard for her and the pressure from her inner thigh against him does not help him keep his resolve.

“I want...” she pants between a passionate kiss. “I want you inside of me. _Need_ you…”

He utters some kind of gibberish, unable to refuse her request. He slides into her, so wet, so warm, _so satisfactory_.

But he drags it out.

“Fuck me, please, you feel so good,” she whispers in his ear.

“No-no…not tonight. We have time,” he says, and his mouth covers hers again.

 

He slides in and out slowly, synchronizes with the steady whistling of the wind. He ebbs and flows, holding onto every sound she makes, and commits the night to memory. Even after he spends himself, he rocks with her body, enjoying plush kisses and satin touches until they reluctantly pull apart for a breath and a drink of water. He pushes the hair out of her face and hands her a drink, chilling it with frost magic before she takes it in hand. He watches her, studies her body, the scars make him replay memories of the wounds he has healed. He traces them with his thumb, and it makes her laugh.

“Think you could do that frost trick with me?” She asks and hands the water to him.

He takes a sip.

“Well I’d prefer you not to be a rigid block of ice…”

“You know what I mean.” She crawls over to him, takes the water and lowers it to the floor. “Round two?" she asks and kisses the dimple on his chin.

He grips her chin in his hand, pulls her lips to his, still chilled from the drink. “Round two," he confirms, deepening the kiss.


End file.
